Tartarus
by marie0912
Summary: Isabella doesn't believe in mind-blowing sex, or even mutual satisfaction - she believes in friction. That is until one day she rubs a certain Statistics Professor the wrong way, the result is glorious chaos. Entry for the Dirty Talkin' Edward contest - One of the Winners of the 'Dirty Five'


**Contest entry for the Dirty Talkin' Edward Contest  
By Popular Vote Tartarus Became One of the Winners of the 'Dirty Five'**

**Title**: Tartarus

**Pairing**: Edward/Isabella

**Rating**: M

**Summary**: Isabella doesn't believe in mind-blowing sex, or even mutual satisfaction. She believes in friction. Until one day she rubs a certain Statistics Professor the wrong way - the result is glorious chaos.

**Disclaimer**: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

_- - - Tartarus is The Realm of Chaos from which Light and the Cosmos was born - - -_

_- - - Tartarus - - -_

**Tartarus92**: OK, Mr Sexpert, I'll buy into the self-esteem aspect, but on the whole, a woman's arousal can't be only her responsibility. The assumption that a woman's mind is usually going in fifty different directions doesn't completely explain my issue. I can focus when there's something worth focusing on, but in my experience, guys aren't that good at keeping my attention.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation**: So you still maintain you don't believe in mutual gratification then, Sweet Tart?

**Tartarus92**: I believe in gratification, I just don't think there's enough blood left upstairs to keep focus on anything going on beyond those few, distracted inches south of it.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation**: Those 'few' inches tend to be enveloped in something that is quite worthy of attention though. The fact that it isn't wet, the fact that it isn't contracting, is something those distracted inches should be quick to register.

**Tartarus92**: Really? Why, Mr. Pearson, I must not have met the right inches!

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation**: You are a minx, woman. You are fucking dangerous.

**Tartarus92**: I think I love it when you swear, Pierce.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation**: Pierce?

**Tartarus92**: As in Brosnan. I'm picturing you looking like Pierce Brosnan.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation**: You got a thing for older men, or is it just the accent, Tart?

**Tartarus92**: I've got one of those accents myself, so really, it's more that he is freaking smexy.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation**: You still haven't answered me though. Is it the age thing?

**Tartarus92**: You sound worried, love! Well, I do prefer an older man, but not that old! Hah! I think he actually is old enough to be my grandfather! He was bloody delicious as James Bond though.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation**: So, something else keeps your fascination, girl?

**Tartarus92**: Maybe.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation**: Tell me.

**Tartarus92**: No.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation**: Please tell me.

**Tartarus92**: I gotta go.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation**: Let me guess?

**Tartarus92**: Inbox me, I'm headed to the pub. Talk later Mr Pearson. Xx

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation**: Talk later girl.

Isabella signed off and grabbed her jacket, giving her computer one last, longing look.  
There seemed to be a correlation between her desire to stay by the device and a certain Mr Pearson.

###

"I don't really believe in sex."

Victoria had unfortunately taken a sip of her freshly poured pint just then and managed to snort some up her nose whilst laughing.

"Ow ow ow!" she pinched her nose, eyes watering as she reached for a napkin. "Whaddya mead?"  
Isabella, dark curls bouncing as she shook her head at her friend, tossed a cheap romance novel into the girl's lap. Victoria picked it up with a frown, squinting at the title suspiciously.

"Why are you reading this crap?" she demanded. "This shit should be burned at a stake!"

"Oh, I do agree with you there, Darling," Isabella smirked. "My point is . . . sex doesn't feel like that. There is no such thing as multiple orgasms or sensual acts of making love or even just fucking. A girl doesn't get wet when a guy gives her a 'look.' Honestly, all there is, is friction." She'd been having the same discussion with Mr Pearson on several occasions. He had firmly disagreed with her.

She took a sip of her coke and let her words sink in. Victoria frowned. "Friction?" she repeated, eyebrows knitting together.

Isabella shrugged. "Yup. Friction, friction, friction, chafing…"

Victoria Darling let slip a loud laugh and smacked her friend on the back of her head. "Girl, I don't know what kind of sex you've been having, but I'm not sure you're doing it right!"

The brunette grinned widely, nodding towards the book in Victoria's lap. "I sure as hell haven't been having sex like that."

"Maybe you need a long overdue anatomy lesson?" Victoria suggested. "Also, you can't put stock in those cheap Cadbury versions of love and relationship books. It doesn't happen like that. But there is chemistry. It's chemistry you need to look for. Make sure you both are on the same wavelength. In tune, so to speak." Victoria raised her pint and toasted no one in particular to punctuate her little speech.

Isabella rolled her eyes. "How do you know you're in tune with someone then?"

Her friend inched closer to her, the faux leather on the lounge which they had spent the last hour sitting on giving a few obnoxious squeaks and even an unseemly farting sound.

Victoria patted her hand on Isabella's shoulder gently and smiled. "Well, in short, you hum. You sort of … sing to that person. You give off a type of sound that the other recognises. Sometimes it can be fake, sometimes it can be slightly off key and sometimes, it can be just right." She leaned her head on Isabella's upper arm and threw her arms dramatically around her.

"You were even right about the friction thing, sort of. Not quite though. Don't talk about sex and chafing in the same sentence. It's wrong. But, sweetheart… when he has you up against the kitchen counter and shoves his hand down your panties, your thoughts should be about whether or not he's gonna bend you over it and fuck you good. You shouldn't be panicking over the fact that you can't get wet."

Isabella shuddered at the memory, biting her lip. Well, there it was. To date, the only one who had ever made her wet was a stranger on the internet.

"I'm guessing that's how your first time went too, huh?" Victoria surmised gently.

Isabella shrugged. "Felix bought lube. It wasn't that painful, just … meh."

"Yeah," Victoria sighed. "If you're doing it right, sex should never be 'meh.' You need to find someone who thrills you, someone that gets you all fired up."

Isabella smiled a sad sort of smile, shaking her head. "Fired up. You mean, pisses me off?"

Victoria laughed. "Why the hell not?"

In her left trouser pocket, Isabella's phone lit up with an incoming email.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation**: I think it's not as much the age as the experience. Maybe, when handled with certain… care, it's possible to get you… there.

###

The hallway was nearly empty. Isabella ran as fast as her legs could carry her, stumbling through the doors in the Western Auditorium. Plunking down on a random bench, she rustled around in her rucksack for the latest cheap romance novel in her curriculum and flipped the pages to a makeshift bookmark.

The blond girl next to her frowned when she saw the title and Isabella grinned, rolling her eyes.  
"I know, right? I have no clue how this made the booklist this year. Can you believe this platitudinous drivel actually outsold Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban? Bloody travesty."

She shook her head, looking confused and a little weirded out. Isabella just shrugged. Maybe the girl was a fan? The sex scenes were absolutely ridiculous. In spite of lacking both in content and quality though, she couldn't help but feel a bit envious of the lead character. She didn't have much in terms of brains, but maybe she was happier that way? Maybe not thinking_was_ the clue.

There was no time to follow that particular train of thought. The lecturer entered with swift strides and began plugging in a worn MacBook Pro to the monitors.

"Well, that's a new one. Is he standing in for Mr Hughes?" she mused. He was tall and lean, well built. Fairly young. _Delicious._ Oh yes, definitely the kind that would rot your teeth.

But then the slides flashed onto the screen and Isabella suddenly became terribly aware that this was not a lecture on English literature.

"We are going to build on two-way ANOVA equations this time. Since we are closing in on the mid-term mini exam, I suggest you all come prepared. I trust everyone has gone through the online quiz?"

He paused, sparing the room a quick glance. "Very well."

"_Oh, shit_."

###

"Sometimes I wonder why I haven't been assigned a legal guardian yet. How am I allowed to be out amongst people?" Isabella knocked her head against the surprisingly sticky desk at which she had taken up residence since stumbling into the library just a moment earlier.

Victoria giggled and gave her friend an eye roll that was simultaneously condescending and affectionate. "I've asked myself the very same question so many times Baby Bell…"

"Do _not_ call me that!" Isabella hissed, throwing her pen in her friend's general direction.

Victoria quickly ducked out of the way, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. "Sorry babes, but you are just so cute when you scowl. Can't help myself! What did you do now?"

Distracted all of a sudden, Isabella leaned over to gently tug at Victoria's bright orange hair.  
"Did you dip your head in a can of paint whilst I was gone this weekend? What the hell happened?"

Victoria's shoulder length hair was a bright flaming shade of orange.

"Haley Williams is a goddess," was all she offered on the subject, crossing her arms over her chest.

It was a step up from the poison green at least, Isabella thought.

"I managed to walk into the wrong auditorium this morning."

"What?"

"Yep… bloody Second Year Statistics! Two-way ANOVA Equations or something. Sat there for forty-five minutes. The lecturer was freaking scary! I couldn't get out of my seat or he would've 'ad me!"

"Oh my God!" Victoria covered her mouth to try and muffle the piercing laughter escaping her lips.

"Seriously! At the end, he pointed at my sorry ass and demanded I name an independent variable! I sat there with my mouth opening and closing like a bloody gold fish!"

"No, no… stop!" Victoria was snort-giggling so hard it sounded physically painful.

"Vic, he spotted the fucking book! He looked so pissed off when I didn't say anything! So I managed to stutter that I was actually in the wrong lecture and approximately a hundred students laughed as I scrambled for the door. I swear the guy looked like he was about to commit murder! I ran for my life!"

That was what pushed Victoria over the edge. "You brought your … you brought the…? It was on your desk?! Oh my fucking… holy… I can't! I can't! I'm dying!" She was gasping for air at that point.

Victoria calmed herself after a minute, wiping the tears of mirth at the corner of her eyes. Those eyes narrowed suddenly, as she looked her friend up and down. "Are you… are you wearing pyjamas?"

"Huh?" Isabella looked down. Cookie Monster tee, cookie monster shorts with white leggings underneath, bright pink blinking shoes with un-tied laces on the left foot.

"Um… it appears that way."

"Oh, for God's sake."

"It's only pyjamas if you choose to be confined by society's rules!" Isabella defended, sticking out her tongue.

"_How_ is what I wanna know. _How_?"

"I was up half the night chatting with a friend and the other half I spent listening to Angela's sex sounds. Morning came, I put some leggings underneath, washed, strapped on a bra and just… who cares? I need Nando's. Wanna join me?"

Victoria smirked. "Why the hell not, eh? Let me just grab my things, save this file and go brutalise the printer. Fucking piece of shit won't do colours and I'm almost out of credit. One would think the ridiculous fees would cover simple things like printing, but no." Victoria kept muttering as she stalked across the large room.

Half an hour later, Victoria Darling was done cursing out the poor man in charge of tech support. He looked like he was fighting tears.

They strolled toward the town's shopping centre, singing Sway by The Perishers in obnoxiously loud voices. After an impromptu shopping trip at TK Maxx and HMV, Isabella managed to drag Victoria out of The Gap and to the restaurant. They ordered, paid and sat down, and spent their time making up words as they tried to sing along to the Portuguese music that blasted from the speakers.

"So, was he hot?"

"Who?"

"The professor dude you nearly gave an aneurism earlier!" Victoria giggled.

At that moment, Isabella was chewing on some crushed ice. She choked and sputtered, gasping for air as she shakily got out of her chair.

"Isabella! Shit, are you choking?" Victoria was out of her own chair in an instant. It clattered to the tiled floor as she darted over and began patting her friend on the back forcefully. It wasn't helping and panic seized Isabella.

At the table beside them, a man abruptly rose and walked over to them in long, quick strides. He grabbed Isabella around the waist without uttering a word and started performed the Heimlich manoeuvre. The piece of ice lodged in her trachea came loose on the third attempt.

Still shaking, Isabella grabbed a hold of her chair for support as the stranger sat her down and the dizziness abided. She turned around slowly, about to thank the stranger that had saved her life, or at the very least a few brain cells. As she was about to speak, her watering eyes finally recognised who was standing before her.

"This is the second time you've interrupted me and wasted my time today, young lady," the man growled. "Do you even bother paying attention to your surroundings?" he demanded. "And why are you wearing sleep clothes!?" He was barely containing himself from shouting, his eyes – a mossy green - were flaming and livid.

Before she could make a sound, before she was even able to fully comprehend what had just happened, he stormed out of the restaurant, leaving a half full plate on his table. He had apparently also abandoned his dinner companion in his rush to get out of there. A slim, pretty lady in her early thirties with dirty blond hair down to her elbows remained in her seat. She stared at Isabella, completely stunned.

"My apologies," the lady finally offered in a French accent, attempting to smile.

Isabella took her seat once more, her legs quivering slightly as she reached for her drink and took a large gulp. She flinched a little as the remaining crushed ice swiped gently against her lips. Victoria was staring open-mouthed at the door where her saviour had just departed.

"_Will you sit down_?" Isabella hissed, bringing her friend back to the present.

With effort, Victoria managed to draw her eyes away and find her seat again. "So… that's a 'yes' to the 'is he hot' question then?"

Isabella managed a wry grin, the shock finally settling. "Yes, and apparently also bat-crap crazy."  
She didn't bother lowering her voice. The lady would probably overhear them, but it really didn't matter. Mr Hyde had just walked out on their meal throwing a tantrum because he had saved someone from someone choking.

The sound of suppressed laughter told Isabella all she needed to know. Yes, the French lady had heard and she probably agreed somewhat with that assessment.

Their meal was delivered shortly after that, a smiling girl with a thick Portuguese accent put their plates down.

"I wonder if he sleeps naked," Victoria mused out loud, a fork full of mashed potato hovering by her lips.

"What?!" Isabella squeaked, nearly dropping her chicken wrap.

Victoria grinned wickedly as she chewed and swallowed. "Well, since he seems to have such an issue with pyjamas, I mean!"

Isabella slapped a hand across her eyes, shaking her head. "Maybe he just doesn't like them in the daytime?" she offered, deciding she might as well participate in the ridiculousness.

"Maybe he just doesn't like them on _you_?" Victoria winked. "Maybe he would prefer them off you, you know? You_ did_ bring erotica to the lecture…"

Isabella blushed, covering her eyes once again. "Why am I friends with you?" she mumbled.

"No clue," Victoria grinned. "Maybe because without me, you would still be spending your Saturday nights playing classic Super Mario on your computer?" she offered with a wink.

"Yeah, that must be why," Isabella retorted drily. "Also, the dude, in addition to clearly having issues only a professional can help resolve, hates my pitiful guts. I disrupted his class, I disrupted his meal, and I suspect the man may have suppressed some kind of childhood trauma regarding Sesame Street." Isabella pointed to the blue character on her top. "Maybe he's afraid of puppets? Maybe this whole ordeal could have been avoided if I'd worn my Bambi PJ's instead?"

###

In the following week, there seemed to have formed a strange kind of gravitational pull between Isabella and her new-found nemesis. The man who had rescued her from her choking to death was making it his mission in life to be unpleasant to her and yet appear _everywhere_ she went. He sprouted up in the most unexpected places like a weed.

Isabella had taken to lurking in doorways or behind corners to check the coast was clear whenever she was walking around campus, but even when she thought she was safe to stroll into the room, the pub, the coffee shop or even random hallways, he would just materialise.

He would scowl at the sight of her, narrow his eyes if he felt her presence, and a murderous expression formed on his face when he caught her buying the last blueberry muffin because he'd avoided getting in line when he saw her enter the coffee shop, opting to pretend to be browsing the drink selection whilst she made her purchase.

She proceeded to sit down at the nearest table, stuffing her face with it, and enjoying the spoils of this strange war that had sprouted up between them as she listened to him verbally abuse the part-time barista over not stocking more of his preferred pastry.

Victoria thought the whole thing was absolutely hilarious. She would grin like the Cheshire Cat whenever her nemesis came into view, sometimes just outright laughing.

"I thought gingers were supposed to be a bloody dying race! Why the hell does he keep popping up everywhere?" Isabella growled as she caught sight of him coming out of the University Shop.

It was true – his hair was the same colour as the annoying change in her back pocket, about six Pence of unpolished copper that had been in circulation since the late seventies. She turned around the corner hoping he didn't see her and deciding to scramble up stairs to the Style bar and hide.

Hopefully daytime drinking was frowned upon in his faculty.

"Well, it is predicted that they will have died out by 2050, but hopefully you will have graduated by then and either have resolved this thing between you, or you two will actually have given in and had sex." Victoria shrugged as if she had told her about the squirrel that she had seen on her way to campus today.

"Sex?" Isabella choked on the blueberry muffin she had taken out of her bag to eat, coughing violently. It had become a habit to buy them now because as much as she refused to admit it to her friend, the sight of his anger sent a thrill through her body like she had never felt. His expression as he had to watch her eat his favourite pastry was more satisfying than any sex she'd ever had.

Unfortunately, the man in question chose that particular moment to waltz into the bar, and the sound of her coughing caught his attention immediately. She collected herself quickly and blushed profusely as his eyes zeroed in on the muffin in her hand. She grinned widely in spite of the heat that crept up her face, her eyes teary. She stuffed the thing in her mouth like a savage, proceeded by a wink in his direction.

His eyes widened, the mask of rage dissipating. A slight tint to his cheeks revealed embarrassment and perhaps, just possibly, something slightly more sinister, something just a bit less pure.  
He turned and marched out the door.

Isabella and Victoria could do nothing but stare after him before they both burst out laughing.

"Sex," Victoria repeated, a knowing smirk on her lips. "This is what I was talking about, baby. He gets you all fired up."

"Shut it," Isabella mumbled, her mouth full, chewing thoughtfully for something to do. Inwardly though, she felt giddy. She had no intentions of having sex with this guy whose name she didn't even know, but it was a free country after all, and there was no law against screwing with him.

There probably was some rule against harassing professors though.

But she wasn't doing that. She just suddenly had this uncontrollable urge to learn more about the wonders of statistics.

###

Friday at eleven o'clock in the morning, which was when her English literature seminar normally took place, Isabella marched right into the Western Auditorium with a blueberry muffin in a little brown bag and a caramel macchiato in her hand, bright turquoise Cookie Monster PJ's under her knitted jacket, blinking shoes still blinking and smirk on her pretty, pouty lips.

She took up residence in the darkest corner, on the left side on the third row, opting to not get in his face. Maybe she was feeling a little less confident than she had a few days earlier, maybe it was the idea that he was genuinely put off by her presence, in spite of Victoria's insistence the man was as turned on by her as he was pissed off, but she decided to remain inconspicuous for the time being.

The lecture hall started filling up with students that scrambled sleepily into their seats. She took the time to fire of a message to Pearson.

**Tartarus92:** Sorry about not replying earlier. I just have a lot of shit going on. Also, yeah. You may be correct in your assessment. Well, not 'may'. You are. I guess. I'm not sure. I'm having an off day. I think though, that the amount of experience doesn't matter all that much if there isn't any chemistry.  
My friend said something about that. I sound like the most ignorant sod right now, I really don't want to come off as naïve and stupid, but can it really be that mechanical? If the guy knows female anatomy, he can get her off?

He replied almost immediately.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation:** She's alive! Hi Tart. Well, your friend is right. Is that what the issue has been all along though? Because if that is the case – lack of arousal/satisfaction/whatever due to lack of chemistry, then your solution is a pretty simple one: don't shag a bloke that doesn't make your panties wet. You can push the button for the lift a thousand times, it still won't cum any faster.

**Tartarus92:** Shag. Shag! Who says that anymore? I am dying!

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation**: Would you prefer my saying 'fuck' then, Tart? Fucking?

**Tartarus92**: Yes! *insert face fanning and breathy, hitched voice* Also, you did say wet, and panties. And cum. Good lord.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation**: You are adorable. I bet you have a beautiful voice.

**Tartarus92**: You flatter me Sir! It's not gonna get you anywhere. We said no pictures, right? No calls, no names.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation:** No fun.

**Tartarus92**: I've had lots of fun with your dirty words. You needed a woman's point of view, I needed someone to talk to. It's never as good in real life. Let me be your fantasy. Don't ruin it with reality.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation:** You could never ruin anything.

**Tartarus92**: I always ruin something, love. Let's just be.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation:** Paloma Faith – 'Just be'. Listen to it and think of me.

**Tartarus92:** I will.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation:** "Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: 'It might have been." – J.G Whittier.

**Tartarus92**: I gotta go, love.

The handsome, pissed off statistics professor walked in moments after the last student climbed into a bench row on the right, his head down, ignoring the pupils as they in turn ignored him.

Except Isabella, who had her eye fixed on his hunched shoulders, the stiff posture, taking in the charcoal suit, the forget me not blue tie, the beaten up MacBook Pro he was carrying under his arm, and began wondering if maybe this might be a particularly bad day for her to create a little chaos. As he waited for the computer to start up, he gave the screen of his phone a final look. Whatever was there seemed to be the source of his discontent.

Filled with doubt, but not wanting to draw attention to herself by getting out of her seat when the class was about to commence, she decided to make herself as small as possible and wait it out. The projectors were turned on and PowerPoint Slides became the only source of light in the room.

"Today will be a short session. We will go over the basics for Multiple Regression Analysis and try to draw on the similarities it carries to ANOVA equations. You will have to learn how to do this by hand, as has been previously stated, and I would like to remind everyone that the faculty has decided the exam notes you are allowed to bring can only consist of one A4 sheet this year, though double sided."

A unanimous groan sounded through the auditorium, every single student but Isabella figuratively grinding their teeth in frustration.

"Geesh," Isabella murmured under her breath. That really did sound like a tough break.

"Enough," Merciless-Statistics-Professor-Life-Saviour-Angry- Blueberry-Muffin-Deprived-Guy snapped, causing the class to silence immediately and a shiver to run down Isabella's spine.

_Someone who thrills you. Someone who gets you all fired up. _She certainly felt thrilled_. Could this be what real attraction felt like? _Having always been a bit of a feminist, raised by a single mother and all, it was ever so slightly confusing to feel so drawn to the sound of a man being strict and giving orders. Well, not just a man, this man.

Thirty minutes after the lecture had begun, the professor was firing questions into the crowd. Isabella shrank so low in her seat that her eyes were barely peaking over the desk.

His eyes danced over the faces, pointing at raised hands and gracing the people who answered correctly with a nod, whilst giving the people who answered wrong a withering look and a roll of his eyes. _Arrogant, condescending bastard_. Why then, did he look so fucking edible?

He didn't look her way once, and she breathed a sigh of relief as the lights were turned on and class was dismissed. She grabbed her untouched and now cold coffee from her desk, hesitating a little before reaching into her bag and fetching the blueberry muffin. He was out of sight behind the desk, disconnecting his computer from the projectors.

Maybe a random act of kindness would improve upon his sour disposition? As she walked by, she quickly and carefully placed the muffin on the keys of his computer and sprinted for the door.

"Young lady!" a familiar growl sounded behind her.

She stopped in her tracks automatically, turning to look at him.  
He was holding the muffin in his hand, his expression for the first time unreadable to her. She hid her apprehension with a smile.

"Have a good day, Professor," she winked, walking backward to the exit.

###

**Tartarus92:** Could it be considered unhealthy to be aroused by someone who hates your guts? I think I need to see someone.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation**: You found someone to get you wet, Tart?

**Tartarus92:** It seems so.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation**: I can't do this anymore.

**Tartarus92**: Love, this was always going to happen at some point. You'd find someone to listen to your dirty words, I'd find someone to finally get me going. Other than you.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation:** I get you wet, Tart?

**Tartarus92**: Yes.

**MrPearsonThaCorrelation:** I never knew.

He logged off and a sense of finality chilled her right to her bones. She had a feeling Mr Pearson would take a long time to show again. Why did that make her feel so empty?

###

In the week that followed, Isabella felt reluctant to return to the scene of the crime. Since their first encounter, she had seen him practically every day she walked out on campus, but this last week, the strange gravitational pull seemed to have abated and she hadn't seen him at all. She actually got the feeling he was deliberately avoiding her.

She was sitting in the coffee shop with Victoria, nibbling on a Millionaires Shortbread slice, her thoughts full of blueberry muffins, but refusing to buy one. They just didn't taste the same without the thrill of him catching her eat it.

"His name is Edward Cullen."

"Huh?" Isabella snapped out of her blueberry muffin reverie abruptly, blinking at her friend, whose hair was now jet black.

Victoria raised an eyebrow, a wry grin playing at her lips. "Mr. Statistics Professor Muffin Man," she informed.

"Oh."

"Yup. Kate, my flat mate last year, she's in psyche. Met her at the Forum on Wednesday and asked her."

Isabella frowned. "Why would you ask her the name of her stats teacher?"

"Now, what kind of friend would I be if I didn't light a fire under my bestie's unhealthy obsessions?" Victoria's voice dripped with sarcasm but didn't offer anything else.

Isabella shrugged.

Edward Cullen, statistics professor and Heimlich maneuverer extraordinaire.

It had been entertaining enough, but with the mystery of his name now solved, the connection seemed severed. To be honest, she no longer cared that much about why he was such a grumpy bastard.

Well, maybe she did. Just a little. But there was no time to dwell on that. He was a university employee after all and pursuing this any further just wasn't sensible.

This was what she told herself at least, as she caught the shuttle to the other campus, dressed in a slightly daring version of her old school uniform – the theme for tonight's Forum event being Back To School. She brushed past the students headed to statistics, intending to make a long overdue appearance to her literature seminar instead.

She turned the corner without looking, her eyes on the screen of her iPod, skipping through songs. Abruptly, her body came in forceful contact with a solid, suit clad mass. She was knocked over, her shocked eyes shoot up from where she had been fixed on the screen of her mp3 player to meet the eyes of none other than Professor Edward Cullen. He was staring down at her. More precisely, at her cleavage.

His eyes travelled her dishevelled uniform, her unbuttoned cardigan, her loose tie, her skirt that had been hemmed up so far it was barely covering the important bits, and trailed further down to her black knee high socks, finally resting on her worn, black Mary Jane's. She was all things forbidden, all things enraging, all things he dared not even think about. His stare darkened.

"Will you keep your eyes on where you are walking, girl!" he growled.

Thrills. Chills. It should have intimidated her, like the first time he shouted at her, but no. It sent her mischievous mind running with ideas, her spine tingling, her blood rushing, and a surge, a rush of confidence suddenly coursed through her again, joined with the too hot blood in her veins.  
He looked like one more push would throw him off the edge of whatever metaphorical cliff he was currently standing. Glorious chaos raged behind his eyes. Tartarus.

He bent over to reach for her upper arms, raising her to her feet like a child. He was strong, she noted. She was easily bordering on a 130 pounds, curvy and well-fed.

"I do apologise, Sir," Isabella said, winking at him.

He blanched, frazzled, his scowl disappearing with the slow flush that rose from his tie constricted collar to his cheeks. He was beautiful, she decided. Flustered and pretty, as pretty as was permitted without coming off as feminine. From his polished, black, shiny leather shoes to his crisp black suit, to his starched white shirt and his carefully knotted tie, to his combed, rusty coloured hair, he was all man and the thought of it caused a wicked grin to spread across her lips._ Right out of a fucking erotic romance novel_. This man should be on her reading list.

He made her wanna porn-moan, all deep and dirty.

The sound of his huff brought her back.

"Don't you have a class to disrupt?" he bit, the scowl falling back in place.

This only made her smile wider.

"Oh, yes!" she laughed, stuffing her iPod into her bag and turned back to the Western Auditorium. "Come along now, Professor. Can't keep those ANOVAS waiting."

He blinked. Again, the scowl disappeared as he followed her, completely stunned by her response.  
His eyes found focus again a moment later as he noticed the sway of her plaid little skirt, the blue, black and yellow lines, the sway of the carefully ironed and stitched folds. He swallowed hard.

The sound of a throat clearing brought his focus higher, and his cheeked turned tomato red. He had been caught.

She plopped down right in front of him this time, not even bothering to hide in the corner of the room, and watched with delight as he stuttered his way through an in depth lecture on Multiple Regression Analysis, absentmindedly doodling away on her notebook. She had never felt so inspired. For her final year creative writing project, she had decided to pen a story about a beautiful, control freakish stranger who saved a girl's life and the romance that blossomed out of their hate/hate relationship.

She was by no means plotting a romance with Edward Cullen though. She had no illusions and frankly, the only time he wasn't obnoxious to her was when he was staring at the hemline of her skirt.  
What attraction could this whole thing possibly hold for her, outside of the fact that he kept starring in her very naughty daydreams? She was pretty sure there were some unresolved daddy issues playing into the mix. There was also that good old teacher fantasy every school girl nursed at one point or another.

Living it was thrilling. It had woken her up from the daze she had been walking around in the past year. Breakups did that to a person. Pursuing this unhealthy obsession made her feel alive. His possible attraction made her feel desired, and that was a powerful sensation indeed. It was addicting. It made her giddy, gave her energy and made her recklessly indifferent to consequences.

She was awkward and quirky, floating around in her own little world where it fell on Victoria to pull her back to reality, to make her have some fun. For the first time in ages, probably since she were a Uni 'Fresher', she looked forward to going down to the Forum tonight. She looked forward to the sticky floors, the thumping music, to the pheromones that were sure to be filling the air. Sex and alcohol, probably some Ecstasy too, some weed on the corner where the smokers lurked. She didn't do drugs herself. The occasional blunt when university life had been so full of new experiences and possibilities, but she didn't touch anything stronger. She had been addicted to Coca Cola since she was thirteen and never had been able to kick the habit. She was not made for things that one had to give up.

Edward Cullen droned on about ways to plot things into SPSS. She looked up at the screen, watching him demonstrate and rolled her eyes, drifting back off into her own mind.

Addiction. _Never touch something you're not ready to give up_. She hadn't touched Edward Cullen yet, but good lord… would she be able to give this feeling up? The last week had been weird. She hadn't craved his presence obsessively. She hadn't deliberately sought him out.

_You did go to all the usual places you'd run into him though_, said a voice in her head.  
Suddenly unnerved, she tucked away her pen and paper. She stuffed it in her bag as quietly as she was able and rose from her seat, making her way to the door.

The room went quiet as she walked and a prickling sensation at the back of her neck told her she was being watched. She didn't turn around.

She was kicking this habit _now_.

###

"Oh. My. Freaking. God!"

Victoria was jumping, squealing and shaking Isabella's shoulders in excitement. "They are playing Spice Girls! This really_ is_ a Back-to-School night!"

Isabella grinned. Oh yes. Mel B was demanding that someone tell her what they wanted, what they really, really wanted. Edward Cullen came to mind.

"If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends!"

The whole queue was singing now, all wearing some version of a school uniform. A pleased kind of nostalgia filled the air.

They showed their ticket to the door man along with their student ID and were soon standing at the bar south of the stage and dance floor. Isabella ordered Coke. Victoria ordered a pint. One turned to four, the night dragged on, and they were swaying to old familiar pop music, giggling at the way boys leered at their uniforms, relishing in the moment of for once recognizing desire on a man's face. It had been so long since Isabella had looked beyond her own opinion.

In the Style Bar, which was part of the venue, but separate from the club, they were serving cocktails. For once, Isabella indulged. Appletini's were supposed to be nice, right?

She got up on her tip toes to lean on the desk of the bar, grinning at the bartender who had plentiful and elaborate tattoos. He flirted and she flirted back. Edward Cullen and his scowls could suck it.

She grabbed her drink and began searching for Victoria, but seemed to have lost her to the crowd. Isabella realised after a few moments that she was looking for the wrong hair colour. The girl was currently a brunette, the bright orange gone.

There was a floor to ceiling window that covered the entire right side of the bar overlooking campus and the small town. She walked over, leaning against the glass as she sipped her drink, deep in thought and a bit tired from the loud noise.

A clammy hand on the back of her thigh made her jump. She turned abruptly, spilling her drink on the yellow cardigan she was wearing.

"Demi!" she groaned, pulling away, wiping her cardigan with her hand.

"Hi Iz," he slurred.

"Ugh…" she shuddered, disgusted. The night was officially ruined.

She made to leave when his hand shot out and grabbed the top of her arm. Her mind flashed back to the hours before when someone else had put his hand there. He had by no means squeezed this hard.

"Damn it, Demetri!" she growled, shoving at his hand.

He was drunk, towering over her, and clearly the door man was a friend of his, seeing as the guy had graduated in the fall and was supposed to be working in London. He tightened his grip and she felt a surge of fear run through her.

Just as she was about to cry for help, someone began shouting in their direction.

From the group of people that had been sitting in the lounge closest to the exit, none other than Edward Cullen rose. He was in the company of a group of colleagues. They were probably Ph.D. students working for the faculty.

The statistics professor was at her side in a heartbeat, his expression murderous, but for once, his glare was not directed towards Isabella. She registered that this deep-seated rage he was radiating from every particle of his being could never compare to the looks he had given her since their first meeting. _This_ was hate.

"Let. Her. Go. _Now_!" he whispered, voice cold, the inflection deadly. Demetri instinctively loosened his grip on her, startled by the confrontation he was facing with a man that was clearly older and, when standing so close they were breathing in each other's faces, obviously taller. The band of muscle in his arms, visible now that he was wearing a black tee shirt with The Who written in white script across the chest instead of his usual suit, outdid Demetri's by miles. He realised at once it was dangerous to push things here, even in his drunken haze.

"Relax, man," he slurred, releasing Isabella completely from his grasp to hold his hands up, his palms facing Edward Cullen, attempting to calm him.

"I'm just chatting to my girlfriend, isn't that right, Isabella?" he tried to soothe.

The statistics professor narrowed his eyes dangerously, looking between them and catching Isabella's outraged expression.

"I am _not _your girlfriend, Demetri!" she growled, backing away toward the window.

A mean smile spread across Demetri's lips. He brushed a hand through his messy blond hair, trying to look casual and not the least bit phased by her rejection, her anger.

Isabella felt her stomach sink. She recognised that look. He was about to say something nasty. She held her breath.

"Yeah, that's right, she couldn't get wet. The slut dumped me when I told her I didn't eat pussy," he smirked in Edward's direction.

Isabella's face flushed scarlet.  
Edward Cullen's green eyes became round as saucers, paling slightly around his lips. He looked down at her flaming cheeks and back up at Demetri's arrogant smirk, his shocked expression melting into one of recognition before he managed to gather himself.

He scoffed at Demetri.

"She wanted you to eat her out?" He sounded so superior, so endlessly smug in that moment, Isabella had no choice but to lift her gaze from where she had been keeping it fixed to the dirty carpet. "Thank your lucky stars I didn't know her back then, you tosser. She wouldn't have been your girlfriend for long if I did."

Her eyes boggled a little. So did Demetri's. A heat spread through her as Edward looked her up and down, the intensity of his stare making her shiver and a spark of something so much stronger than the thrill she had felt all the times they had stumbled upon each other settled deep within her. Something about him in that moment had her skin spread out in goose bumps. A kind of Déjà vu tickled the edges of her mind.

Demetri managed a snort of derision. "Ew! Nasty," he said, a look of disgust on his face.

"Child," Edward retorted, looking like he wanted nothing more than to punch her ex-boyfriend in the face. Isabella's heart fluttered, her breathing subtly laboured, her attention solely focused on the statistics professor as he turned slowly and, for the very first time, smiled at her. Well, it was more like a smirk, but he was looking her up and down, paying special attention to the hem of her skirt. She could practically feel every dirty thought that ran through his head on her skin.

Demetri was fed up and about to move away, intending to go to the main hall where most of the people were, when Edward noticed his movement and seized a hold of his wrist.

"Hey, man! What are you doing?"

Edward scoffed again. "You hurt her," he stated. "I'm not giving you a chance to disrespect some other unsuspecting victim. And if you ever refer to this woman as a slut again, I will make you regret it."

He was deadly serious. Demetri did the wise thing and kept his mouth shut. Edward grabbed Isabella's hand gently in his free hand and dragged them both to the exit.

Victoria came stumbling into the bar just then, wearing a couple of neon light sticks around her neck with a few phone numbers scribbled on her white shirt in multitude of sharpie colours. Nothing unusual. She took in the scene in front of her with complete confusion.

"What the hell?" she asked as she walked toward them.

"Oh, good," Edward breathed at the sight of her, recognizing her from Nando's. "Did you come here together?" he asked, his voice kinder and calmer than it should have been with the way Demetri was struggling against his grip.

Victoria nodded dumbly, eliciting another genuine even if slightly small smile from the statistics professor.

"Well, would you mind taking Isabella home?" he asked.

Isabella blanched. Victoria startled, but neither made a sound of protest.

"Okay," Victoria agreed.

"Good. She can fill you in on the details later. He and I are just going to have a chat with security," Edward said.

They went down to the first floor where the bouncers were standing with a few underpaid university employed security guards. The professor explained what happened and surprised them all when he told Isabella to roll up her sleeve and show what Demetri had done.

She obeyed submissively. It didn't even occur to her to make a fuss over it. He was in charge, he knew best and it made her feel cared for. _Romance novel, romance novel, _her inner monologue chanted breathlessly. The memory of Pearson whispering sadly in the background.

The bruises had already started forming.

Demetri was escorted off campus without hesitation and Edward Cullen called Isabella and Victoria a taxi. He waited until it had pulled up, saw them both inside and handed Isabella a ten pound note as she buckled her seatbelt.

"I'll be seeing you next week, I expect," the statistics professor stated. It wasn't a question.

Isabella managed to smile in spite of her surprise, feeling flushed and a bit giddy.

"Of course, professor," she nodded. "Can't wait to learn more about multiple regression analysis."  
He smirked.

###

The weeks flew by, the bruises on her arm yellowing and fading, but the memory of them stayed the same.

Every Thursday evening, she found herself looking through her clothes, trying to decide what to wear. She had certainly enjoyed the reaction she got when sporting Cookie Monster on her boobs, but she had to admit to herself that the way he stared at the hemline of her skirts thrilled her more.

On a Friday morning in early May, she grabbed a plaid red and green skirt that she had gotten at Asda and paired it with a white blouse, bobby socks and Mary Janes. She was ready to go.

It was as close to the outfit she'd been wearing that night at the Forum as she got without actually putting on her old school uniform. She was hoping for the same reaction.

Since that night, he hadn't said a single inappropriate thing to her. In fact, he hadn't said anything to her at all. He spared her a glance every now and again whilst he droned on about figures and compared variables and explained different procedures to work out mathematical problems, but never whilst she was looking at him. Only when her eyes were pointing downward to her raunchy literature did he look her way.

She stopped at the coffee shop, making a blueberry muffin purchase alongside her caramel macchiato. The former hadn't been purchased in a while, but she figured the tension that followed the appearance of a blueberry pastry would push him to do something more than ignore her. She waited outside the Western Auditorium whilst the other students filled the room and watched him stride toward her wearing a black suit, a white shirt and a red tie around his neck, MacBook Pro under one arm. He looked up from where he had been typing on his Blackberry and caught her eye. Edward Cullen didn't smile.

He looked livid, he looked tense, he looked… completely and utterly turned on.

Her eyes travelled south without her permission, and they found a distinct bulge in his fitted trousers. The outline was prominent and threatening, like a snake in the grass. She looked up quickly, a blush on her cheeks and a grin on her lips, expecting to meet a pair of mortified green eyes. Instead, his eyes were firmly fixed at the hemline of her skirt again, on the tips of her French manicured fingers as they played with the fabric nervously. Slowly, he raked his eyes up her body, taking in the tight blouse, the two open buttons that revealed a pale, prominent cleavage, zeroed in on her deep dusky pink lips as she darted her tongue out to moisten them. Finally he reached her worried stare.

He narrowed his eyes at the innocence he found there, that look of inexperience didn't belong on a face so beautiful, on a body so lush.

Strung tight like a wire, he walked past her, slightly bowlegged with his erection. When he heard her giggle, he growled audibly. She followed right behind him, walking past his desk, placing her muffin on his keyboard.

"To Sir with love," she whispered, a shameless grin on her face.

He finally gave in. It was time to fully venture into the realm of chaos. Tartarus was the destination of his expedition. Isabella had been imagining him as the hero of her tacky erotic romance novels. But he was not. He was the villain.

As the lecture started, Edward Cullen's eyes took on a sadistic glint that filled Isabella with a sense of foreboding.

About twenty minutes in, she discovered why.

"Can anyone here explain to me the uses for a Pearson's Correlation?"

He scanned the class, caught plenty of raised hands scattered about, and ignored all of them completely.

"Young lady?" he nodded towards her. She sunk low in her chair. _Oh, you bastard_.

Something else in the back of her mind began stirring. _Pearson's Correlation_.

She stuttered and cleared her throat. "Uh… statistical testing?" she offered.

She wasn't wrong, strictly speaking, but apparently that was not the answer Edward Cullen was looking for.

"No," he said, his voice curt, but a smile played at his lips still. He seemed to be enjoying a private joke. Someone else answered.

The lecture carried on. He fired out a few more questions and called on other students, but just as she felt safe to ignore him again, he was at her again.

"Can anyone tell me the correct way to plot in and label this data in SPSS?"

Hands shot up all over the place, but his finger pointed at her.

She slapped a hand over her eyes, shaking her head slowly in disbelief.

"You want me to come up there and demonstrate or would you like me to guide you through it?" she bit.

He smirked.

"Please guide me through it."

_Oh, you son of a bitch_.

"Erm…. You take the numbers and you put them in the… well, you switch to the other view thingy… the, yes that one. Yes. And then you… yes, you plot them in there and… I'm sorry, I don't think…"

He rolled his eyes, still smirking, and called on someone else to explain.

She was absolutely mortified, seething in fact. She had half a mind to get out of her seat and leave his smug ass behind.

Just as she made her mind up to go, he called the end of class and students began exiting the auditorium.

"Isabella, I'd like to see you for a moment," Edward Cullen's voice carried across the room. She had already reached the door at that point and wanted nothing more than to give him the middle finger.  
Instead, she turned around because her mother had taught her to respect authority. At that moment, this man exuded just that from every pore of his being. It was delicious.

His face was blank, void of emotion. As the last student left the room, she reached his desk.

"Tut, tut, tut," he clicked his tongue. "You are in second year statistics and you can't even tell me how to plot data into SPSS?"

She growled. "Why are you doing this? I bet you that if you had sat down in my class right about now, you couldn't tell me anything about the books I'm reading. The symbolism, about the feminism, anything!"

He smiled wider. "I'm not in your class though, am I?"

She shook her head slowly as a sense of completion filled her. The final piece of the puzzle fell into place. _Could he really be…?_

"I do think, given the situation, we will need to have a conversation in my office about how far behind you've fallen on the curriculum."

"Uh… I don't think I… um…" _Eloquent_.

He shut his laptop with a smack and nodded in the direction of the exit, grabbing the muffin in his hand and eating it with a thoughtful smile. She watched his teeth and tongue, the movement of his lips with yet another sense of foreboding.

_Was he about to consume her?_

Her former protests were forgotten, her mortification was gone. She followed him like a lamb to the slaughter.

They reached the lift in Hall F. He motioned for her to enter before he followed and pressed a button. When they got to the fourth floor, the doors opened and he exited. She followed his lead mutely and they moved through the glass corridors until they approached a wing that was slightly darker. The sign over the main doors across the bridge from them read School of Psychology and they walked through, silent still.

Finally, they reached the end of the hallway. To the left was an office where the sign read 'E. A. M. Cullen.'

He reached into the pocket of his trousers for something that jingled and fished out a set of keys. He placed the correct one in the lock, unlocked, opened and mutely signalled for her to enter, pushing gently at her lower back.

A small and perfectly tidy room revealed itself before Isabella. The surfaces were clean, the walls bare, the shelves filled with books titled inexplicably boring things all to do with maths and statistics. She spotted the name 'Andy Field' repeatedly, but when the door shut and the lock clicked in place behind her, she became rigid and still, her eyes seeing nothing. All her senses slowed down to feeling and listening.

Movement caught her attention when he placed his laptop on a shelf, opting not to use the desk that was clear and, judging from the mouse pad there, where he usually kept it.

Half-finished nightmarish, terrifyingly erotic images flashed before her mind's eye. Instinct took over and as she heard him rustle out of his jacket wordlessly, she knew something had set him loose. Whether it was the blueberry muffin, her presence in the lecture hall, her presence in his life in general, or that plaid little skirt she opted to wear this morning, actions really did had consequences.  
She braced herself for what was to come. His erection had been unmistakable and now that she had finally gotten over her own insecurities, so was his lust. She had pushed and pushed until now, when standing in the office of Professor Edward Cullen, she had finally pushed too far. Sex was real. He was about to show her just how real it got.

"Is this what you wanted, Isabella?" his voice was barely above that of a whisper.

Her body responded by giving a violent shudder as she felt a hand over her right hip. It stroked ever so gently down, a smirk forming on his lips at the sound of her breath hitching. His hand moved lower and lower until he reached the hem of that infuriating plaid skirt.

Further it went, toying with the fringe, and then, as she gave a loud, helpless whimper and braced her hands on his desk with a loud smack that resounded in the tiny space, his palm darted beneath and stroked all the way up to the edge of her panties. He slipped a finger underneath the elastic at the top of her thigh. Breathing heavily down her collar, he leaned in so his lips touched at the shell of her ear, so close that she could feel his stubble against her skin, his chest pressed against her back and his free hand coming out of his pocket where he had kept it. He rested it on her stomach, drawing her closer to him still.

"I… I think… I…" _I know you, Pearson_. His pelvis thrust forward, his erection pressing into her firmly. Her legs buckled slightly and she managed to finally gasp out "Yes!"

He chuckled darkly, seemingly unaffected in spite of the hard cock that he had trapped between their two bodies.

"Well, now you've got your wish, little girl," he crooned.

His lips traced her ear ever so gently, the palm on her stomach stroking her and the hand under her skirt snaking slowly up between her thighs. She had once told Mr Pearson dark, dirty fantasies, she had once poured out her worries and concerns about sex and attraction desires, compared and ridiculed them to books and movies, she had poured out her heart to him. Could her taunting of a statistics professor have lead her back to a stranger she thought she had lost? She hadn't realised until that moment just how much Pearson had meant to her.

"You've disrupted my lectures," he growled, and bit her earlobe slightly. She yelped in surprise and gave a little jump. He hissed at the feel of her ass against him.

"You've disrupted my lunch." His hand came to rest fully against the slowly moistening cotton that covered her pussy. She was getting wet. _He was actually making her wet_. _Dirty-freaking-porn-moan_!  
"You stole my blueberry muffins over and over again, little girl," he said, licking where he had bitten before and pressing hard against her with the tips of his fingers, digging the material of her underwear into her slit and coating both the fabric and his digits in her wetness.

As she gave a low moan, the hand that had rested on her stomach rose and covered her left breast, squeezing as he lowered his lips to her neck, nudging the flap of her collar away with his nose, exposing her skin and the white bra strap that lingered there.

"You disrupted my life, with your dirty thoughts, your delicious fears, with just being you!" he growled and leaned down to bite her shoulder, pressing harder and stroking his fingers against her clit.

_Is it really you?_ She wanted to whisper, her heart daring to hope. But still, she couldn't bring herself to ask.

He lifted his hand from over her shirt, slipping it down and under her bra cup, moulding against her soft flesh, brushing against her nipple.

"Oh, God…" she whispered, hanging her head forward and digging her nails into the wood of his desk so hard she could feel them breaking through the varnish that covered the mahogany. It was real. Sex was real. Pearson… could he be real too?

He chuckled darkly as he felt her grow even wetter.

"I also disrupted your night out," she reminded him, feeling his fingers tug at her nipple, the digits of his other hand pushing against her opening through the fabric of her panties mercilessly. He was rough with her, but gentle at the same time.

"You didn't disrupt it Isabella. Your ex-boyfriend did as far as I recall."

His lips began tracing slow French kisses along her shoulder then, his tongue darting out to lick where he sucked, making her mind race with the possibilities. It seemed his own mind went in a similar direction, or maybe had intended to make hers head where his had already been. As he found the juncture of her neck, he dragged his teeth slowly across the skin and gave long swiping strokes of his tongue to the skin he had marked slightly.

"Was it true, what he said?" he murmured. "That you asked him to lick this tight, wet little pussy I have underneath my fingers right now, and he said no?"

"Oh, dear God…" Isabella gasped. "You still remember that?"

Edward chuckled against her ear, his lips finally lifting from her throat where they had begun on what would have been an impressive hickey. "I've thought about little else, sweet tart. I also seem to recall he couldn't get you wet. Because it was him, wasn't it? This pussy has no problem soaking for me."  
_It has never had any trouble soaking for you_, she thought. She shuddered and finally let one hand slip from the desk, reaching back to place in his copper hair. She dragged her fingernails through it and felt him press his cock against her ass even harder, rubbing himself against her.

"Has anyone ever done that?" he wanted to know. "Has anyone had their mouth on this pussy?"

She outright moaned, biting her lip as she ground herself shamelessly on the stroking hand between her legs.

"No," Isabella managed to choke out.

"Oh, little girl," he murmured, releasing her suddenly from his hold and spinning her around to look in his eyes. His green eyes were blazing as he took in her flushed cheeks, her swollen lips and wide, brown eyes. That edge of inexperience still lingered in their depths. "I'll be your first," he whispered against her lips.

He pulled away and placed both hands against her ass, grabbing her roughly.

"Has anyone ever had their cock inside you, Isabella?"

She whimpered again. Isabella placed both hands on his shoulders and pushed against him, creating some space to be able to look him in the eye.

"Yes." She was not apologizing for that.

His expression darkened slightly.

"Too bad," he murmured. His eyes took on a familiar scowl, a jealous, possessive narrowing of those green orbs. "Did that boy put his dick in you? Did he try to fuck your little pussy when it was still dry?" he demanded.

"No," she promised. He smirked back.

"Good girl."

He took a few paces back, relinquishing her ass and the heat of her, leaving her confused and fidgeting.

"That is all well, Isabella, but for all your transgressions, for the ways you've been a disruption, I think you must be … punished." His lips seemed to taste that last word, relish it. His smile was sinister, his eyes full of promise, and her own widened with fear as a rush of arousal flooded her body, soaking her panties further.

"Punished?" she whispered.

He nodded.

"You'll hurt me?" she asked, her voice clearer but still breaking a little.

His smile turned infinitesimally less superior, a gentleness lingering at the corners of his mouth. She found that she could release the breath she had been holding.

"Not… much," he promised.

She had no time to contemplate the meaning.

"Are you protected, Isabella?" he asked.

She frowned at him.

He patted the front of his trousers gently, just over that prominent bulge.

Realization dawned and she blushed before she nodded.

"Excellent," he praised. "I do _so_ want to fuck that wet little pussy of yours."

"Professor…" she gasped. His eyes darkened again at the use of his title.

"Oh, yes… Keep calling me that, little girl… and turn around," he ordered, loosening the tie around his neck.

She obeyed, too caught in the moment to consider the implications. The word 'punish' resounded in her mind. She was both terrified and excited beyond measure to discover what he meant.

"Bend over and place those pretty little hands on my desk, please," he said, his voice polite, controlled, _dangerous_.

She did as he bid her and that's when she felt it. The hum Victoria had been talking about. They were in perfect tune. The chemistry Pearson had been talking about. It was all there.

His hands were soon on her again, one touching the bottom of her skirt again, fingers dragging up the same path they had before. Only this time, they didn't stop at the edge of that elastic band at the juncture between her thighs. He continued till he reached the top and grabbed a firm hold, pulling them down swiftly as she gave a loud yelp of surprise.

"Shhh now…" he leaned in to kiss her neck. "Good girl."

Her panties pooled around her ankles and he leaned over her again, flipping the back of her skirt up to cover the small of her back, exposing pale, round cheeks. Edward stared in wonder, his palm twitching as he stroked down her hip and grabbed the right one roughly.

Something between a moan and a squeal got trapped between tightly sealed lips. She was, as it turned out, an obedient girl. In certain things, at least.

"Now, for your punishment." Her eyes widened, his hand raised, and as she made to straighten, to stop him, it smacked down where he first had grabbed. It was both hard and gentle. She felt the sting, the pain, and yet also, the sensuality. Wetness kept seeping from between that slit between her legs and to her great surprise, she moaned.

"That is for disrupting my lecture," he told her. He raised his hand again and smacked back down on the other cheek.

She moaned again and yelped at the same time, barely muffling the sound this time.

"That is for choking on crushed ice and not my hard fucking cock," he growled.

"You could have died," he whispered, an edge of sadness creeping in despite of the sting that followed that last statement.

Another one fell down, her bottom turning a nice shade of pink, and he said, "That is for stealing my blueberry muffin and for teasing me with that pastry between your lips."

"Again," another smack," And again," yet another one, "and again…"

"Please," Isabella begged, half-heartedly. She wasn't quite confident she wanted him to stop.

"No, you are not done with your punishment yet," he said, kissing her neck gently before placing his left hand, the one that wasn't punishing her bottom, just under her hairline.

"This is for the chaos you brought into my life," he smacked her ass again.

"This is for making me think I had to let you go," he said, his voice commanding still, but something in it broke a little.

"And this…" he spanked her with an air of finality. "This is for making my cock hard every fucking time I see your face, your ass, even think about you."

She yelped yet again, rubbing her thighs together and felt wetness that had begun seeping down both legs. His hand snaked up to rub where it stung and she sighed as the one he had kept on her neck descended to grab her breast again.

Abruptly his fingers snaked down to the middle of her ass, stroked between the cleft slowly, touching a damp opening on his way to where the source of wetness originated. She gave a broken moan. Something felt good that shouldn't have and then he was there, two fingers against her opening, pressing into her pussy without mercy or hesitation.

"Professor…" it sounded like squeal and a sigh, something between pleasure and pain. He groaned and leaned his head against her as he pushed further up, deeper into her tightness, picturing what it would feel when he pushed what he really ached for in there. But she wasn't ready yet.

"Please, please," she begged as she reached behind to grab at whatever she could reach of him.

He slid his fingers out slowly and thrust back in hard.

"Do you feel that, little girl?" he whispered as he leaned his chin on her shoulder, his lips once again feather light against her ear.

"Do you feel how tight that is? I've got two fingers in you, and you're already full. Such a tight girl…" It sounded like praise and taunting all at once.

"Can you take three, Sweet Tart?" he crooned. Her eyes opened and widened. She really wasn't sure. Tart. He'd called her Sweet Tart. _Flutter flutter, heart-stutter._

"No, I don't think… I mean…"

He chuckled in that dark way of his once more, nibbling at her ear.

"Oh, you will little girl… even if I have to stuff it somewhere else."

She gave a sort of panicked squeak. Did that mean what she thought it meant? The threat turned her on, and the prospect… it didn't turn her off.

He let the hand that had been fondling her breasts fall from her chest and down, under her skirt and searching her lower lips for a tight bud to stroke.

He found it. She groaned as he let a feather light swipe of the pad of an index finger rub against her. It was wet, her clit, and he took full advantage.

That was when he began punishing her for real.

"Take it, Sweet Tart, take your punishment like a good girl," he growled. She grew wetter still and he grew rougher. The thought of finger fucking and spanking a school girl in his office made him feel like the dirtiest, horniest bastard alive. It invigorated and pissed him off simultaneously.

"Good girl," he praised as he pushed his fingers in and out, stroking her clit with his other hand. "Take it."

She was teetering now, just tiptoeing on the edge. Her inner walls were fluttering, threatening to grasp him, to clamp down and give away to her pleasure.

As his two fingers slipped out, he brought his index finger out of her wetness, and brought middle finger and ring finger in. She barely registered the slight change as she leaned her head back to rest against his chest.

"This is the best… I've never… Holy sh…" she gasped.

"Almost done now, baby," he whispered against her ear. "Almost done with your punishment now…" When he spoke, she realised something else was coming, something darker.

As that last thought swept through her mind, his wet index finger pressed against her other opening, already damp with arousal and perspiration and forced itself in. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, her pussy clamped down on him and he kept rubbing that clit as her legs gave away and she leaned fully down on his desk.

"Good girl," he praised her as she came. "Cum on my fingers and take your punishment like a good girl. Cum with my finger in your tight little bum." It was the dirtiest thing anyone had ever said to her. She was in flames of embarrassment and sexual desire. _It was real. Pearson, _her chest ached. _Please be real._

Edward retracted his hands slowly as she laid there panting, spent. Her eyes opened and closed, her expression blank, her cheeks flushed and every part of her covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Edward," she whimpered. He smiled at his work, his finest he decided, as he appraised her pink ass, her soaked thighs and those tight little holes he had so roughly used.

"Are you ready for more, Sweet Tart?" he asked.

She leaned up on weak elbows and turned to look at him, a shy smile on pretty lips.

"May I have a kiss first?" Her brown eyes glinted.

His own crinkled a little at the corners.

"Yes," he panted. He raced those two steps it took to get to her and pulled her back to his chest again, turning her head to the side and claiming her lips. It was long and deep and so full of decadent promise. He released her, panting as he did, and unzipped his trousers, pulling them down along with his boxer shorts. She had already turned, not daring to look in spite of her curiosity, at his cock. She knew he would be big, maybe even too big for her to handle. She was tight, it had been so long but his ministrations had readied her and she braced herself as she felt the tip of him where his fingers had been thrusting before.

He pushed. She groaned right along with him as he stretched her open.

"Holy fucking… Holy shit…" he panted. "Your tight little pussy is so fucking… oh my God…"

She felt him sink impossibly deeper, though she already felt so full.

"Professor," she whimpered. He reached a merciful hand down at the front of her, leaving just the one to rip her shirt open, buttons flying, and fondle her breasts. He started rubbing tight little circles around her clit. She relaxed as he kept thrusting forward.

"That's it…" he groaned. "Are you sure you've had cock before, Isabella?" he demanded.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Well, I'm not. You feel as tight as a fucking virgin girl…"

Finally, he had filled her to the hilt, she could take no more and he was all the way inside.

"I guess that's what happens when you fuck boys instead of men."

And then he began thrusting.

"No, no, it's too… tight, it's too much… oh… yes… oh, that feels good…" She couldn't make her mind up. It hurt and felt so damn good. At some point the pleasure released her from the pain and she adjusted.

"Take it baby. Take my cock. Let me show you what it's like to be fucked by a real man."

He'd thrust hard, but slow, making her feel everything. She clutched his arms, both the one pinching her nipples and the one that kept rubbing steadily against her pussy.

"I don't think my cock has ever had a tighter, wetter little pussy than yours Isabella," he murmured.  
"It has never come inside something so precious, so provocative… I think it's time, don't you?"

She was edging sanity by then, feeling heat build, urgency nibble at the edges of her mind, but as he took her harder, faster and filled her with long, hot spurts of cum, she was still teetering on the brink of orgasm. The hand that had been rubbing her was clutching her throat firmly, but gently.

He bit down on her shoulder slightly, growling and finally spent.

She quivered as he retracted and turned, cum running down between her thighs, looking at his sated eyes with her own, which were on edge with lack of fulfilment.

"What's the matter, Isabella?" he asked, his tone gentle and amused. He knew, of course.

"Get up on the desk, baby," he coaxed. She looked behind her uncertainly. He walked toward her and lifted her up. She sat there with her feet dangling and he dragged his office chair toward the desk, sitting down with his limp, wet cock still hanging out.

She giggled at the sight.

He smirked back at her and pulled closer. "You are so very beautiful, sweet girl," he sighed, reaching out to her shirt and pulling it off slowly. She bit her lip shyly, but whether at the compliment or at what his fingers were doing, he couldn't tell.

He had waded through the land of chaos, and Tartarus, the girl before him, was glorious. She was Light, she was Cosmos. _Please be you,_ his heart whispered.

He unhooked her bra, pulling it down her arms.

"And your tits Isabella… fucking hell," he sighed and leaned in, tongue darting out as she wriggled. He let his hands stroke her thighs, causing her to squirm even more, and didn't relent until she was begging.

"Please Edward, please…" _Make it real. Be real._

He looked up and let her left nipple slide from his mouth slowly, dragging his teeth gently across it. He pulled her legs towards him. "Lean back little girl… and let me be your first."

Her elbows gave out and she fell back with a thud, her head against the only book on his desk.  
'SPSS for Dummies'.

She felt him lick her thigh, felt him breathe on her hot, wet slit and then she felt the swipe of his tongue. Then she felt nothing else. It was absolutely everything and in her wildest imaginings, she couldn't have pictured what it would be like to be sucked, licked and nibbled on by an uptight bastard of a statistics professor. _This_ was why they called it 'getting eaten out'. _This_ was real.

Just like everything had been in his control up until she walked into his life, he was controlling her with every swipe of his tongue. He didn't care that his cum was running down her thighs. It was extra lubricant.

And as his fingers joined in, it served her well.

"Edward, please…" she begged as she got close, but over and over again, he stopped. He kept thrusting, his fingers rubbing in a beckoning motion inside her, making pressure build like she couldn't describe.

Just when she was about to push him off and finish the job herself, completely desperate and near tears, he pushed yet another finger in, at her lower entrance again, his and her cum making it slide in easily. As she felt him press in to the last knuckle, she began contracting. He bit down on her clit ever so gently and sucked her into his mouth before he began running his tongue over and over her. She was screaming into her hand so hard tears were running down her cheeks, only one word escaping her lips: _Pearson._

He finally relented and slipped out of her as she started shaking and she lay limp as a ragdoll against his desk.

"It's real" she whispered. "You're real."

###

Twenty minutes later, she was dressed and on her way out of his office.

As she reached for the handle, his arms circled around her waist, holding her back.

"Isabella… What is the difference between Numeral, Ordinal and Interval values?"

Silence filled the room and she could practically hear him smirk.

"I don't know, Edward," she rolled her eyes.

"I do believe private tutoring will be in order then, little girl. This time next week?"

She laughed.

"What makes you think I'm even interested in statistics anymore?"

He laughed too.

"Well, the odds are in my favour, girl. You haven't seen half of my tricks yet. I like your choice of literature, by the way."

He pointed to the erotic novel that was peeking out from her book bag.

"Well, I can't resist a mystery. Your turn to buy the blueberry muffins, Professor. Also, here." She thrust the book at him.

"Educate yourself."

"Oh yes, I can do that. Now get out there and create some chaos. And when you get home tonight, haunted by the memories of what I did to your body today, just think about what I might do next time. And if you're feeling especially bold, text them to me. I might just do them all, and more."

She nodded and blushed.

Both of them were too scared to ask what they were both desperate to know for sure.

He turned her around and kissed her hard on the lips.

Scowling, he met her wide no longer innocent eyes.

"But no rubbing that pussy. It belongs to me now."

About ten minutes after the door shut behind her, his phone beeped with an incoming email.

**Tartarus92**_**: **_Will you fuck me in the Western Auditorium, Pearson? Ask me to stay behind and punish my pussy for not knowing your stupid statistics. Xx.

* * *

**Thank you so very much to everyone that read, reviewed and voted, leading to my winning in the Dirty Five category. I will personally write everyone who reviewed Tartarus during the contest, and of course those who review here.**

A blinkie was made by Rose Arcadia for Tartarus when I won, and it is on my profile if anyone wants to have a look :)

**Best wishes and lots of love, **

**Marie**


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